Poetry Friday: The Blue-Gray Dome

The Blue-Gray Dome

I misplaced myself a little while,
lay on the balcony with a jean quilt
looking at the stars.

The blue-gray sky domed over me,
draped over the mountains and the city.
Dewdrops hung from invisible strings and
crickets sang a chorus of night,
a song to carry my soul to sleep
in a lonely land of inhales and exhales.

Cool autumn wind danced from my toes
to tickle my face, blowing under the quilt.

I memorized the scene of silhouette branches
and tiny hurried satellites,
faint light spilling out the window.

Wrapped snug in the patterns of blue,
the varied stitches of white,
I closed my eyes and shivered,
warm and cold all at once.

Poetry Friday: Sleep Reflection

Sleep Reflection

Waking to the chill of morning,
I open my eyes
close the window
turn off the blaring alarm
turn on my loud music
throw off my PJs
pull on a sweater and jeans
because it’s cool outside.

It’s warm in my bedroom so
I strip off my clothes
put on light PJs
turn off my quiet music
turn on my morning alarm
open the window
and close my eyes,
falling asleep to the warmth of night.

A Quick Ode to Autumn

I am so excited that autumn is finally starting to show itself in the valley! It comes with the start of school, cooling temperatures, leaves on the ground and the slow approach of the holidays. Autumn is the mother hen season, tucking us all under her wings of warm gold and brilliant auburn and rich, silky red. It’s a time for hugs and gloves and mugs and new love. Autumn means that there will be time for raking leaf piles with the neighbor kids; inhaling deeply the crisp air and smell of fallen leaves; and making new relationships that have the potential to last longer than life.

I love the turning of the seasons anytime, but autumn is hands down my favorite.

P.S. Have fun at school today, my fellow students! We can do this.

Poetry Friday: Autumn’s Palette

Autumn’s Palette

Floating ducks on the rainbow pond
of red and gold and green and blue

Falling sun before long blue shadows
across green grass and gray stones

Flying black birds in the white sky
over red and black cars

Flailing brown branches in wind
above white-frosted tree trunks

To Matter

I leaned into his body with my shoulder against his chest, his arm wrapped around me as we rested against the car. Five birds, black against the pale blue and yellow sunset, flew across the scene. The world darkened and melted into gray clouds–all the world except the framed sunset with a strip of land and distant mountain separating marsh from sky. I thought how easy the landscape would be to paint, and yet how impossible to capture its beauty and complexity. I tried to focus on the moment, the serenity of the countryside and the silence of the oncoming night, but concentration proved difficult with his warm body next to mine, the almost tangible feeling of love and acceptance he exuded. I struggled with the guilt of depression, even with this human in my life, even with a perfect place like this so near home.

He said, in his soft voice, that the place was actually dead, and he gave evidence that convinced me. But he didn’t know it was the most alive I’d felt in weeks. I felt so much real emotion–not just anxiety, but anticipation; not just curiosity, but wonder. But most of all, caring; caring for him, for myself, for the future, for the moment. And I almost remembered what it’s like to matter.

Poetry Friday: Blinking Lights and I Sit Still

I’m going to start doing Poetry Fridays–like, a weekly poetry post. Yerp.

Blinking Lights

The red emergency exit lights blink at me,
innocent and waiting each day for
some kind of hysteria, for
when the stairs will be crowded,
warm bodies mashing together
in haste.
Not like today.
One in three stair travelers glance at me,
that person on the bench with books and bags
and earphones and worn white Keds,
the one whom no one is sitting by
for whatever reason.

I Sit Still

The bell tower chimes eleven times
and a leaf falls to the concrete.
Morning wind tickles my face,
hair brushing my flushed cheeks.
Wheels and leaves and shadows
and humans move
as I sit still with concrete and trees.
Smiling you sit alone, so I know
your secret–it’s mine as well.